


Stucky: Oneshots

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 'Til the end of the line, Angst/Comfort, Captain america movies - Freeform, Dancing, Dream(?), Fun, M/M, Nightclub, Nightmares, Post-Civil War, Promises, Reassuring fluff, Safe and Sound, Stucky - Freeform, Taylor Swift - Freeform, Violence, Winter Soldier ending, midnight meeting, more to come - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7159037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marvel gave us two amazing characters. Bucky and Captain America. Now it's up to us to decide what to do with them. Here's my take on one of the most popular Marvel ships around: Stucky.</p><p>NOTICE: Completed; new Stucky fanfics will arrive separately in works of their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 'Til the End of the Line

**Author's Note:**

> Contains spoilers for the end of 'Captain America: The Winter Soldier'. Read at your own risk.

“Fire now.”

Steve wheezed into his communicator, blood trickling down his mouth, as static and startled silence filled up Agent Hill’s side, who protested, “But Steve — ”

“DO IT.”

He doubled over, gasping and coughing as more blood pooled into his mouth, which was spat out due to its revolting, overwhelming metallic taste. He braced himself for the sounds of explosions to meet his ears and the heat of crossfire to roll over his skin, and he didn’t have to wait long. Soon the other heli-carriers began firing at each other, and it was mass chaos and hell in less than a few seconds. Steve’s vision began to grow hazy as the pain that had overcome him minutes before began to subside to a numbing cold, and he couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. He heaved himself up and staggered to the edge of the bridge, hauling himself to the railing, feeling searing pain in his gut blazing in a starburst from where Bucky had shot him. He grunted, holding on so tightly to the railings that his knuckles turned white and raw with the effort as the explosions shook the carrier.

Suddenly a desperate, throaty wail caught Steve’s attention, and he immediately looked below him. His eyes widened as they rested on Bucky, who was caught underneath a fallen metal structure that had toppled on top of him. The Winter Soldier’s face was tight with pain, and Steve could have sworn his old friend glanced up at him, his eyes screaming in agony.

Crawling to an opening in the railing, Steve closed his eyes and lurched forward, hissing slightly as he landed heavily on his right arm. The drop was only around twenty feet or so, and he had jumped from much farther up, but he was injured, weakened, and without a proper mentality. He looked up, panting and sweating, and realized Bucky was looking at him, a whirlwind of emotions swirling around his bruised face. Then he looked away, straining as he tried to heft the heavy beam off of him.

Clutching his stomach, Steve scrambled to his feet and staggered to the man, shield held in the other hand. Kneeling, he messily jumped over to beam to join Bucky, who struggled underneath the machinery. Together the pair groaned as they tried to lift the beam, and though Steve had his eyes tightly shut through concentration, he heard shuffling to his left as he lifted it just enough for Bucky to wiggle out from underneath. As the other soldier cleared the beam, Steve exhaled heavily and dropped the huge metal wedge, his breath short.

As Bucky regained his senses, Steve looked at the other man, managing to gasp out, “You know me.”

The red-and-blue-clad soldier watched, his eyes misting, as Bucky paused for a few seconds before roaring, “No I DON’T,” while lunging towards Steve, swinging his metal arm and connecting with Steve’s face, knocking Captain America flat.

Both men breathed hard as they fought to find their bearings, Steve seeking physical stability, Bucky longing for mental. “Bucky,” groaned Steve, his slowly trickling tears hidden by his mask. “You’ve known me your whole life.”

He could see the internal conflict in the brunette’s eyes — half of him, Bucky, wanted to believe this broken, patriotically-dressed man in front of him, while the Winter Soldier, the HYDRA-created half, fought intensely for control over Bucky’s mind, convinced that Steve was an enemy. Finally Bucky settled for bellowing and knocking Steve away with a strong, metal backhand, sending Steve sprawling in front of him.

But Steve wouldn’t stop, choking out, “Your name…is James Buchanan Barnes — ”

“SHUT UP,” screamed Bucky, sending another high-velocity punch right into the blonde’s nose.

Steve clutched his cheeks and chin, feeling blood running from a thick cut underneath one eye and a rip along his jaw. His nose was most definitely broken, twisted and leaning fascinatingly. Balance did not come easy to him, and when he finally found his footing, if not a shaky one, he faced Bucky, hoarsely remarking, “I’m not gonna fight you.”

Metal clanked against glass as the star-spangled shield fell from Steve’s hand and disappeared through a gap in the glass floor of the carrier, falling into the smoky depths below. Steve tilted his head back defiantly, his determined gray-turquoise eyes locking with the torn glacier-colored ones. “You,” he whispered, “are my friend.”

Bucky stared at him, conflicting emotions of awe and anger clear in his expression, before he bared his teeth and let out an animalistic cry while diving towards Steve. Steve yelled as Bucky slammed into his waist, tackling him and effectively restraining him. Fresh pain surged through his body as Bucky pinned his arms down and snarled, “You’re my mission,” before repetitively slamming Steve’s bloodied face with his metal arm, landing blow after blow after blow. 

All of Steve’s internal alarms were set off as waves of torment blazed all over his face, and he was certain that by the end of this — should he survive — it would be a mask of mangled bruises and cuts. But the thing that kept him alive was the fact that as he snatched shattered glimpses of this misused and victimized soldier in front of him, he didn’t see the face of the Winter Soldier. He saw the face of a fearless soldier with high hopes, loved by many women and drafting generals — loved by Steve. He saw the face of his childhood mate and inseparable partner, both at home and on battlefield. He saw the face of his best friend and guardian angel. He saw the face of Bucky Barnes.

And as Bucky drew his arm back for the final punch, with Steve teetering on the edge of the abyss, he looked up at the man he had loved for so many years and still did love, no matter how many times he had battered Steve to oblivion. In that moment, Bucky’s face wavered and physically became the thinner, more defined picture of the man he had been 70 years ago, cleanly shaved and smiling down at tiny, thin Steve — not a hero, just a regular, undernourished boy. A promise that Bucky had vowed to Steve all those years ago drifted back into his delirious mind, and he parted his swollen lips to shakily gasp it back out to the man above him. “Then finish it,” he breathed, a tiny smile on his lips, tears falling from the corners of his eyes. “‘Cause I’m with you till…the end of the line.”

His throat constricted and suddenly felt thick with blood, and Steve’s body convulsed as he lost all of his strength and energy. But his eyes were as bright as ever, because through the dirty wisps of brown hair that fluttered across his face, Steve could see Bucky’s own eyes wide with shock and revelation. It might have been a side affect of being suckered multiple times in the face, but Steve personally thought that the eternally circulating ice and mint looked more beautiful and fierce than they ever had before. Bucky’s breath seemed hot on his face as he seemed to bend down a bit farther, and Steve could tell he was about to say something. 

Then suddenly the entire carrier shook violently as it began to collapse from within, and Steve reached up and gripped Bucky’s normal wrist for a split second, trying to absorb all of his being into his own ragged body. 

And then the glass caved out from beneath him, and Steve’s hand went limp as he let go of Bucky and fell like a once-magnificent star, his body a vermillion, ivory, and cyan comet through the thick grays and carobs of the clouds of smoke. Debris and metal fell around him as Steve streaked through the air, and right before his eyes closed of their own accord, Steve saw the defined, heartbroken face of Bucky Barnes, who stared after him, face full of regret — clear as day for the first time that Steve had seen him in this life.

Cold enveloped his body, and Steve was thrown into darkness, water swelling around him. The last thing that he felt before he lost consciousness was warmth closing around his left hand, and only one word was in his mind when he passed out.

Bucky.


	2. Get Stucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes the new Avengers out for some well-deserved fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after Civil War and may contain spoilers. Read at your own risk.

"Knock, knock?"  
Bucky stiffened and rose up off of his bed, setting his book to the side, and ran a hand through his long, stringy brown hair as he called back gruffly, "What is it, Steve?" knowing the voice of Captain America all too well at this point.  
He straightened out his black and gray tee, involuntarily, as the tall, muscular man opened the door and peeked inside. "You decent?"  
Bucky automatically rolled his eyes with a tiny grin on his face. "You tell me, Steve," he replied just as coolly as his friend had.  
Steve chuckled and fully entered the room. Bucky found himself swallowing against his will as the blonde leaned against the wall of his room, his muscles far too outlined and defined in the tight baby blue tank he was wearing. "So...I was thinking," Steve began, tapping the bottom of his chin.  
"That's always dangerous."  
"Jerk." Steve glanced up at Bucky with a teasing glance as he continued, "Things have been pretty, uh, tense, after...all this." He spread his arms in emphasis, a thin frown crossing his face.  
Bucky nodded and fidgeted with the strings of his hood, knowing very well what Steve was talking about. A lot of the new Avengers -- basically the people who had taken Steve's side during the Civil War between Cap and Stark -- had been deeply unsettled by the events of the past week or so, since friendships had been tested and eventually broken. Clint seemed particularly heartbroken to have lost Natasha, even though she technically helped Steve out in getting to the aircraft at the battle at the airport. Wanda was additionally devastated due to the loss of Vision. Bucky, however, felt a pang of guilt whenever he realized how ecstatic he must appear to the others, since he was blessed with the luck to still be as close to his childhood best friend as they were 70+ years ago -- if not closer.  
Steve should have been happier, in Bucky's betraying eyes, since both Sam and himself were still around to comfort Steve in rough times or swings of emotions (Bucky was the primary source of comfort, though he would never admit it, for lack of a good reason to explain why). However, he sometimes seemed like he was suffering with the worst emotions and fighting off the toughest pieces of guilt. In those particular sessions, Bucky soon learned that they were caused when something would accidentally trigger a certain recollection of Tony Stark deep within Steve's memory, and suddenly Bucky, Sam, or sometimes even both men would find the star-spangled Captain rocking back and forth on his bed, his head between his knees, his blue eyes watering and squeezed tightly closed to try and prevent the tears from leaking out.  
Bucky, though, felt quite inferior and selfish when he eventually realized one thing after a few of such days and nights: he was a little bit annoyed with Sam's presence when the former Winter Soldier was not alone in his attempts to cheer Steve up.  
Forgetting that the subject of his thoughts was standing right there in the room with him, he was just about to open up that door when Steve leaned forward and waved a hand in front of Bucky's face. "Hell-ooo? Buck? Earth to Bucky! Are you there?"  
"Yeah, yeah, sorry," Bucky hastily apologized, realizing that Steve had apparently wanted a verbal agreement. "Yeah," he repeated again, "tense. You gonna do anything about it, Commander?"  
"It's Captain," Steve corrected automatically, "and yes. That's actually what I came here to talk to you about."  
Bucky yawned and reclined on his bed, folding his arms behind his head after deciding that Steve wasn't worth the effort of appearing proper and all-ears. "Alright. Shoot. Although I don't get why I'm suddenly your counselor."  
The minute that the words were out of his mouth, he suddenly wished he could take them back. It wasn't exactly a negative emotion that appeared on Steve's face, which lessened the pain Bucky instantly felt, but it was simply one of deep confusion. "Well, I've known you the longest," reasoned Steve. "And you're my best friend. Isn't that enough reason?"  
Bucky felt a voice nagging at the back of his head, something that he thought was whispering, But is it the only reason? He tried to shrug it away, not willing to ponder upon it and find out what feelings it brought to Bucky's heart, instead deciding to shrug nonchalantly and agree to keep Steve happy. "Yeah. Best friends 'til the end of the line. 's what I promised you."  
Steve's wide, bright smile instantly made up for the shame Bucky felt seconds before. "Great. So I was thinking that maybe the six of us could find somewhere to...well, party, I guess. Just find a nice place to dance and drink and eat, you know, just get a little distracted and have some fun for once." He paused and fretted, "Would that look like narrow-minded leadership on my part?"  
Bucky found himself barking out a laugh as he sat up and shook his head. No matter how much experience Steve got from leading people, whether it be troops or a band of scientifically and biologically altered outlaws, he would never truly rid that small sense of insecurity. "Nah. 'Fact I'm all for that plan. Except we're kind of wanted criminals, Stevie. Any brilliant plan to make sure we don't have anymore run-ins with Stark?" Something that ran a lot deeper, more complicated than the fact that Iron Man had opposed them started to fuel a flame of what Bucky suspected was selfishness and envy. He tried to hide the sudden surge of venom in his words. "Frankly, I've had enough fighting for one lifetime. Is it too much to ask to just settle down, raise a family or something?" Bucky realized that Steve's face had blossomed into gardens of crimson at his last sentence, and he began to wonder why.  
Steve fiddled with the hem of his tank-top, which Bucky found faintly entertaining. "Coming from an experiment working up to creating superhumans to a guy with serious training, a metal arm, and a track record," Steve chuckled, even when Bucky shot him a meaningful, slightly peeved look, "yeah. I mean, unless..."  
Steve's voice trailed off absently, and Bucky decided it wasn't worth pushing Steve to finishing that thought once it was clear it wasn't meant to be finished. Instead Bucky insisted, "So I suppose we're up to a little game of dress-up at the club, then?" while flexing his metal arm, frowning slightly at the light glinting off the vibranium coat.  
"That's exactly what I'm planning. No one will notice your arm, I promise. But if they do, or if we get in any kind of trouble, it's on me," promised Steve.  
"Deal," Bucky said without hesitation. "Don't let me down, Captain."  
"I'd never dream of it, Soldier."

 

***

 

Two hours later, a black van pulled up in front of a club. It was clear there was a party blasting inside, with lights flashing through the tinted windows and the vibration of loud, booming music humming like electricity through the concrete. Bucky stepped out, a little nervous, dressed in a heavy black sweatshirt that was purposely a size too large that easily covered up his metal arm. In addition, he wore a black glove on that hand like normal, not one to take risks. He didn't know what the dress code was in nightclubs (and he was willing to bet his life that Steve didn't, either), but it wasn't like they had too much of a choice. He wore his hood up and kept sunglasses on, even inside the building. All of them had sunglasses, though two -- Wanda and Steve -- risked taking them off inside. Sam already had a thing for such accessories and refused to take them off. Clint really didn't care. All of them were dressed normally and inconspicuously. Wanda had on a dark scarlet sweater and a light vermilion dress on underneath, a fuzzy crimson scarf draped over her neck and chest in addition. Clint wore a vest and a dark gray shirt, accompanied with tight black jeans and his hood pulled up. Sam was in nothing but a gray V-neck and a light hoodie. Scott, actually, was nowhere to be found, as he had said he'd just find some unoccupied spot (as if those existed) and stay tiny. They had finally agreed to the plan, although Steve said that if Scott let himself get stepped on, he would kill Scott. Scott said that was fine.  
However, Steve was the best dressed out of all of them -- but maybe that was only in Bucky's eyes. Though the Captain only wore a dark blue and brick red sweatshirt similar to Bucky's (which Bucky had argued was very risky, though Steve's tease saying 'Aw, you care,' shut him up), skinny jeans, and sunglasses, Bucky had a feeling that if Steve were to ask for a dance, he'd have no choice but to give it to him. Not that Steve would. Or that Bucky was imagining dancing with Steve. That was stupid and hilarious in every way. All Bucky thought was that Steve looked...as attractive, if not slightly more, than he always did.  
After a few odd, nerve-wracking looks cast at them from other people, the band of undercover Avengers (minus one Ant-Man) eventually found themselves pulled into the crowd and then swept along the throngs of people, music, and drinks. Clint and Sam took off to chat up some ladies near the bar, and Wanda found herself being drawn into a group of partying girls. That left Bucky and Steve, two men from the past who honestly had no idea what they were doing here other than trying to have fun, awkwardly standing next to the dance floor.  
Bucky was normally not a man to succumb to heat, but with the thick layers of his undershirt and sweatshirt and the added heat of active, sweating people standing in such close proximity to him threatened to overwhelm him. Steve must have noticed, because Bucky felt a tender hand on his shoulder spinning him to stare into a handsomely defined face lined with gorgeous tussled hair. Before Bucky could react, he faintly heard Steve's voice through the pounding music that was probably set to its highest volume (Bucky would have a thing or two to say to the DJ if this kept up). "Are you alright?" Steve seemed to be asking. It seemed like Steve was whispering to him from a million miles away, but in reality, Bucky knew that his friend was actually shouting at the top of his lungs to be heard.  
"No," Bucky admitted in a voice equally as loud. Then he drew up more breath and suggested, "Sit down?"  
Steve nodded and kept a steady hand on Bucky's shoulder, leading the brunette through the crowds. Eventually they reached the bar, though Clint and Sam were nowhere to be found. A little farther from the music than they were, Steve and Bucky were able to converse in normal, if not slightly enhanced in volume, tones. "What's up?" asked Steve, tilting his head with worry shining in his eyes. "Do you need to go home? I -- I'll drive you back, if you want."  
Bucky snorted, "No way in hell am I missing tonight for the world. I need this. Music's a little loud, is all."  
Steve nodded in agreement. "Oh, okay." After a minute of silence, he spoke again. "Drink?"  
Bucky hesitated, not sure if he should indulge himself. Finally giving in, he sighed and waved the bartender over, requesting a light beer. Steve did the same, and soon enough, two bottles of Bud Light came sliding towards them. Popping open the beer cap with a simple, calculated movement of his metal arm and then doing the same for Steve, Bucky downed a few swigs of the drink before speaking to Steve again. "Anything else you wanna do besides drink all night?"  
Steve laughed and gave Bucky a crooked grin -- something that Bucky always did, making it a little uncomfortable to be in the receiving position. "I was thinking," he answered levelly, "that maybe you'd be up for a little dance."  
Animals by Martin Garrix was on currently, though it was about halfway done. Finally turning his attention to the music, Bucky began to feel his blood pump faster to match the rapid beat. What was this feeling he got...the heat in his chest, the strange emotion running through the veins of his cheeks? Bucky didn't know it, nor did he understand it. Not quite yet. Nevertheless, his face as hot as the bodies around him, his heart on rhythm, urging him to say the words, gave him the capacity to slam his drink down and look Steve in the eyes mischievously. "I'd love to, Stevie."  
Two minutes later, Steve and Bucky found themselves busting out on the dance floor, their dignity and common sense forgotten. Bucky's sunglasses were lost sometime in the thick of it, but he didn't care, because he had never been happier before. Inches away from Steve's face (because of the thickness of the crowd, of course), a dance, enhanced bass remix of 'Get Lucky' by Daft Punk rolling like thunder around them, with nothing but multicolored flashing lights illuminating their partying forms, Bucky finally let loose like he never thought he would be able to. He forgot about the horrors of HYDRA, the pain of the brainwashing, the hurt on Steve's face with Bucky backhanded him on the heli-carrier, the fear he had harbored when he thought he'd never be able to become a normal human being again. It was lost in the roar of the crowd and the heavy beat of the music. And Bucky loved it.  
Of course, that was when he was given his biggest surprise of that night.  
About a minute or so into the song, the chorus began. 'She's up all night to the sun, I'm all night to get some, she's up all night for good fun, I'm up all night to get lucky,' pumped through the speakers up on stage. As Bucky danced, suddenly he felt arms draw him in without warning, and suddenly someone was whispering in his ear as the sub-chorus finished. And the words that were breathed in his ear were completely wrong...but all so right.  
"They're up all night to the sun, he's up all night to get some, I'm up all night for good fun, they're up all night for some Stucky."  
Bucky completely froze, his heartbeat suddenly drowning out the music. When he pulled back from the Captain's abrupt embrace, he gazed into the glittering storm-gray and blue eyes staring straight at him, teasing and lit with humor. "Excuse me?" Bucky asked, not sure if he had heard Steve right.  
Steve obligingly sang to the lyrics again, repeating the revised ones that had for some reason unnerved Bucky. "They're up all night to the sun, he's up all night to get some, I'm up all night for good fun, they're up all night for some Stucky."  
"Stucky," Bucky repeated, the word foreign but strangely delicious on his tongue.  
"You've never heard of that?" Steve sounded amused, triumphant even, that he finally found something that he knew and Bucky didn't. "It's our ship name, Buck. Stucky. Steve and Bucky. Apparently some of the people who've seen us together in action decided we're cute together and made it an official...relationship, I guess. The wonders of Twitter and Tumblr, you know..."  
"No, I wouldn't," Bucky retorted, his face probably an array of shades of red. "I'll get into that. But...Stevie, why are you -- what -- what are you saying?"  
"I can't sing some song parody centering around a romantic relationship between me and my best bud?" Steve questioned, acting incredulous.  
Bucky socked him on the bicep, causing Steve to flick him back. "Punk. But no, seriously...what are you trying to say? You don't have the privilege or ability to sing something like that and then act like you're innocent."  
Steve had the decency to blush, which only made Bucky fall even deeper into those embarrassed sapphire seas of his eyes. "You tell me," Steve taunted, getting closer. With a start, Bucky realized that there were hands around his waist.  
"You," Bucky managed to spit out, his heart an unbearably fast pace as he tried to get Steve to remove his hands, "are a jerk."  
"I know," Steve admitted, leaning closer and his grip tightening. "But you know me."  
Bucky swallowed hard, but somehow he found the ability to look Steve in the eyes even as Captain America quoted the same words he had spoken to Bucky on the heli-carrier. And that was the last thing that was needed to push Bucky all the way in, to finally pull back the curtain and reveal what all those feelings had meant. Why he had been so distracted by Steve's obvious muscles, why he had hated Tony's and Steve's intimate friendship so much, and why he had both dreaded and longed for a chance to dance with Steve. It was because fate had kept them together for 90 years, and somehow it had managed to weave the two boys into something far more than a partnership.  
It was because Bucky loved Steve, and Steve loved Bucky.  
Their lips met, and it was as if the universe let out a sigh of relief that had accumulated over the span of 70 years. Suddenly Bucky was clinging to Steve, and Steve was holding him tightly in return. The taste of beer was prominent on Steve's lips, but even through the deliriousness of it all, Bucky knew that they were both perfectly sober and aware of what they were doing. The taste of justice, the taste of the knowledge that a wrong had been finally righted, the taste of victory that had been sought for every since they first met in this life, was even stronger. And when Steve finally pulled away for air, leaving Bucky gasping and searching for more, Bucky whispered, "I know I love you. Ever since I first met you, a scraggly, malnourished punk who didn't know what he was doing."  
"And I know I loved you ever since you were a stuck-up lady's man who thought he knew it all."  
"Punk."  
"Jerk."  
Their lips met again, and this time it seemed to last for eternity. Because even if there were still wars to be fought, guilt to be conquered, enemies to be defeated, the Winter Soldier would have his Captain, and Captain America would have his Soldier.  
And if that was too hard for Bucky to face, all he'd have to do was remember how they were up for the remainder of that night for some Stucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gahhhhh I'm sorry I don't know what nightclubs are like...I also apologize for it not really including the other characters, but I wrote the majority of it in about half an hour and I wanted to get this posted for you!
> 
> As always, I am open for requests, suggestions, and prompts!


	3. 'Til the End of the Line (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of ''Til the End of the Line'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to post another oneshot, and last night I was reading over the nightclub/dancing one and decided I wanted to do a second part of TTEOTL from Bucky's point of view. Besides, in the movie, we only see Bucky's hand closing around Steve's in the water and then a scene where Bucky is walking away from the body of the latter. So what's there to say that this didn't really happen?

Bucky watched in horror as Steve fell from beneath him. One second, he was lying right underneath him, face bloody and bruised, holding Bucky's wrist with a grip stronger than titanium. The next, there was nothing but a man-sized hole in the glass beneath his arms, barely supporting him. And Steve, who Bucky finally realized meant so much to him, was gone, tumbling into the murky mix of smoke and water below.  
No, he did not have his complete set of memories back, and his sanity and mind was still shattered. But at the moment, he couldn't think of anything else to do. His body reacted before his mind, and suddenly Bucky found himself hurling himself down the gap that Steve had fell through, his hands outstretched as he dove through the hazy air. The tainted wind rushed through his dirty hair as he fell through the sky, not even flinching when his body received the impact of water. He did nothing but spread his arms out in a wide circle, pushing the water around his body. He couldn't even remotely see through the depths of the lake, thanks to all of the debris and ash that had begun to pollute it due to the destruction of the heli-carriers. But something pulled Bucky to a certain location in the water, despite his limited (no, completely obscured) vision. He flailed out randomly, curving through the water and searching desperately for something that he didn't even realize he was searching for. Suddenly, his normal hand closed around something warm and that felt just like a human limb. His heart telling him that this what he was meant to find, Bucky tightened his grip and used his metal arm to propel him and his tow through the water.  
He inhaled a deep breath as his head parted the water and broke through to the surface. Filling his lungs with air, Bucky remembered the man he was carrying and forced his muscles (both real and mechanical) to tug Steve out of the water, trying to get the unconscious Captain to oxygen.  
When it became clear that Steve wasn't about to start breathing without help, Bucky decided to forget his original misgivings and hatred (although was it his own or a feeling installed by his real enemy) centered around the blonde and instead keep this man alive. He slung Steve around his back and held tightly to his arms as he used his legs and metal arm to swim them both to safety. It was hard, even for a man like Bucky who had received intense training. But he didn't care. Steve had caused something to stir inside of him that had never been brought to light before. And Bucky wanted to know more, no matter how much he despised admitting it.  
Finally they reached the shore, the rain of charred, broken machinery beginning to lighten as the last of the heli-carriers were shot down from the air and reduced to nothing but smoking piles of metal. Bucky staggered out of the water, groaning as he shoved Steve off and heavily threw him to the sandy ground. Cracking his back and trying to find a healthy rhythm of breathing, Bucky took Steve up in his arms once again. This time, however, with a clear view of Steve's face...Bucky took a little advantage of this private time to fully take in the features of this surprisingly attractive man who had tried to convince Bucky that they were best friends.  
Steve's hair, although quite dirty and drenched with mud and water, fell around his face in messy blonde strings. His face was flushed, giving his lips a deep crimson color that forced Bucky's face to turn the same color. And Bucky had seen with his own eyes the biggest, most prominent of Steve's assets. Those handsome, deep turquoise-gray eyes that had stared so deep into his own, pleading and begging Bucky to remember him.  
And Bucky had done nothing but ruin those beautiful blue eyes with his own metal fist.  
Suddenly hating how easily Steve, even while unconscious, managed to work his way under his skin, Bucky growled and managed to tear his eyes away from Steve's face. He lugged the man up the shore and decided to lay him to rest a little up the slope where the treeline began. This time he laid Steve down more gently, preparing to try and get his lungs working properly again. Placing his hands on Steve's chest, Bucky began to pump his hands up and down, his face tight with concentration as he attempted to get the air flowing through his veins again. Finally Bucky stared at Steve's lips, pausing in his work, before diving for it without a second thought and locking lips with the other man. He had no time to consider how wonderful it felt, how easy it was to find a comfortable position. Instead Bucky forced Steve's chin down to get his mouth open a little more before inhaling a deep breath through his nostrils and then sending it into Steve's mouth. He did this a few times before pumping Steve's chest again, alternating between his mouth and his chest.  
At last Steve's body convulsed, and Bucky leaned back, breathless and relieved (it had startled him to feel that way, too), as Steve coughed up a few pints of water. Bucky suddenly tensed, wondering if he should leave before Steve woke up fully, until the water was completely emptied and Steve relaxed again, breathing normally, but still passed out.  
The threat of death gone, Bucky let out a sigh, finding himself kneeling by Steve's side again, transfixed by the odd sense of peace that had settled upon the injured's face. For at least two minutes he stayed there, unable to look away from the steady rise and fall of Steve's chest as he began to slip into a regular sleep rather than a forced one. He glanced down to the side and realized that his hand was quite close to Steve's. Allowing a small, surprisingly real smile to transform the thin, compressed line his lips had formed, Bucky slowly slipped his hand into Steve's, trying to fill up the clammy, wet coldness of the latter's hand with his own body heat. Bucky studied their intertwined hands, fiddling with Steve's fingers before connecting them with his. It felt strangely right, just like their lips...like their hands were built to be together, like someone had found the final puzzle piece of the confusing puzzle of Bucky and completed it. It was as if the physical connection to Steve caused some of the tranquility to fade into Bucky's body, relaxing him and releasing his stressed, tense muscles.   
His slightly puzzled but still faintly joyous smile only grew as Bucky slowly bent forward, cupping Steve's limp head with his other hand. His grin melted into a frown as he tried to decide whether what he was doing was right or wrong, whether he would be punished for it or not, if he should even still be here with his sworn enemy. He had done it at least five times just a few seconds before, but this time, there was no reason to do it again.   
Or was there?  
His heart screamed louder than the teachings that had been drilled into his mind for years, insisting that he stop overthinking everything and just act on what he desired. Convinced, Bucky began the act by resting his forehead gently on Steve's, breathing in the same air as his friend.  
His friend.  
Steve was his friend.  
Bucky felt the conclusion come upon him with heartbreaking certainty, that Steve had been right all along and Bucky had been nothing but a violent jerk about it. "You really were, right, Stevie. I really am a jerk," whispered Bucky hoarsely, his voice still not quite his own. The words came to him of their own accord, the beginning of a memory that was slowly coming back to him.  
Steve grunted and stirred beneath him, and Bucky knew it was about time to go. He decided he didn't want to be around when Steve woke up, no matter how he felt. There were still too many questions that had to be answered, too many possibilities that had to be considered, too much guilt that had to be dealt with in the right way. Bucky wasn't ready to confront Captain America again, friend or not.   
But he was ready to do one thing he meant to do, and he felt that it was the least he could do after all the problems and devastation and hurt he had caused Steve.   
Unsure of what exactly he was doing, Bucky let go of his hand and cautiously straddled Steve's waist in order for a better angle and access to his face than the one he had when he was trying to go through the motions of CPR. Raising Steve's head with one hand and keeping himself elevated with the other, Bucky slowly, gingerly, almost as if he was handling a hydrogen bomb that could explode any minute, lowered his head down and closed the distance between their faces. Bucky's tentative, nervous lips just barely brushed against the still, silent ones of Steve for a few seconds, giving Bucky time to decide if he wanted to truly commit to it. Steeling his mind and reasoning with himself (it wasn't like he hadn't done riskier things), Bucky settled all the way down and allowed their lips to fully connect for about ten seconds -- to connect the right way, the way where it was an act of choice, not necessity. In those ten seconds, the salt and sadness was all Bucky could taste, and it filled him with so much shame that he had to pull away before he was overwhelmed. It had felt good, yes, but...maybe it still wasn't the right time. Not while Steve was so vulnerable and unable to do anything to defend himself, while Bucky was so confused and unstable. Not yet.  
Bucky quickly clambered off of Steve and stood up, brushing himself off, taking in a shaky breath. "One day...one day I'll find you again, Steve," Bucky promised in a tiny voice. "Because I'm with you forever, even beyond the end of the line."  
Then he forced himself to turn around and disappear into the foliage and thick trees without another word or glance. Only then, after he was safe within the envelope of foliage and hidden from the naked eye, only then did he allow the tears to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, it was short and probably sucked. Reason being, my sister was watching a show right across from the table I'm currently sitting at, and I kept getting distracted. So. Sorry. Tell me if you think I should do a third part, and if I do, what it's about!
> 
> As always, I am open for requests, suggestions, and prompts!


	4. Safe and Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's been having awful nightmares lately, and it's time that Bucky changed that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took the classic 'nightmare-then-comfort-fluff' route with this one...with a little bit of Taylor Swift in it.

He woke up to the sound of whimpering.  
He's having a nightmare again, Bucky thought drowsily as he slowly blinked the sleep out of his eyes. Pushing away the normal confusion that never failed to strike him whenever he woke up in Steve's guest bedroom wrapped in clean, comfortable sheets, he rose up and yawned. He stretched and frowned as he turned his attention to Steve who was undoubtedly having a little meltdown in the room next door, a recurring incident that had been plaguing both Bucky's and Steve's sleep since the events of the Civil War of the Avengers. He had no idea if Steve had been facing the same problem even before Cap invited Bucky to live with him after breaking them out of prison, but Bucky remembered the first time that he woke up to the sobbing of Steve next door. It was startling, alarming even, and Bucky had jumped up on instinct and rushed over to his roommate's bedroom. However, Steve looked perfectly fine, as if he had heard the frantic footsteps of Bucky and found the ability to compose himself just before the brunette caught him. Steve had promptly denied any claim of crying or sobbing of any kind, and eventually Bucky had no choice but to go back and try to sleep for a few more hours when Steve turned him down and away.  
However, it was morning at this point, and Bucky thought it pointless to try and comfort Steve -- whenever he did, and he did it a lot (the number was somewhere in the double digits now), Steve always acted stubborn and swore that Bucky was hearing things. So he simply got up, pulled on a cotton olive tank over his bare chest, and walked out into the small apartment. In an effort to stay under the radar of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s prying eyes, Steve had rented out a few apartment units for his friends, and Bucky had found himself insisting that he and Steve stay together.   
Actually his exact words were "I can't lose you again," but Bucky would deny it if anyone brought questions about the hopefully private conversation he and Steve had had.  
So now here they were, and though Bucky would never dream of regretting his decision, he did wish from time to time that Steve was just a bit quieter in his sleep. Then he immediately hated himself for thinking that, because he had nothing but sympathy for the nightmarish occurrences in the Captain's mind.  
Trying to tune out to soft crying that was slowly receding, Bucky came into the kitchen and began sorting through the cabinets and refrigerator for something to eat. Fishing out a few eggs, some bread, and a container of orange juice, Bucky was able to whip up a light breakfast for the both of them. By the time that Steve finally emerged from his bedroom, wearing a rumpled shirt, pajama bottoms, and his face quite red but composed, Bucky was reclining in his chair at the dining table, sipping casually from his glass of orange juice. Steve didn't say a word, raising an eyebrow in bewilderment as Bucky put the glass down, swallowed, and waved the blonde over. "G'morning, Stevie. I didn't know how you liked your eggs, so I just scrambled them."  
Steve locked eyes with him, and Bucky just stared calmly back like he normally would. Finally Steve nodded and sat down, still eyeing Bucky suspiciously. He picked up his freshly toasted and buttered bread, filled his mouth with a huge bite, and began to talk mid-chew as if he didn't really want Bucky to hear all of it. "So, ah -- " -- chew, chew -- " -- you didn't, I dunno -- oh this is pretty good bread -- " -- a second to grind up the slowly diminishing pieces of bread -- " -- you didn't feel like --" -- thick swallow -- " -- swinging by to check on me this morning?" Steve wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned back, tilting his head.  
Bucky decided to play it cool. He knew how sensitive Steve could get, and he wanted this morning to be one where he could enjoy a cool day of jogging, a short workout at the gym, and maybe lunch at Chick-Fil-A. He furrowed his brow and hoped that his face was more puzzled than he felt it was, questioning, "Wait, what? I mean, I care about you and all, but why would I want to do that?"  
It was clear that about five tons of worry and self-consciousness with released from Steve's shoulders, because his face relaxed so much from its earlier tension that it seemed to Bucky that Steve was somehow turning back the clock and becoming younger before his eyes. But there was still a hint of something, something that looked like the opposite of satisfaction, shining soberly in the very back of Steve's eyes...  
"Oh. I mean -- oh, nothing. I just thought that, you know, with you being so worried these last few nights, you'd swing by."  
Bucky shrugged. "Eh. You're the Captain, Steve. You can take care of yourself, right?"  
Steve nodded quickly, managing a proud smile that suggested a piece of his older self, where he would sneak a tease under Bucky's skin that was meant to feel Bucky feel inferior to the Captain or just simply snort and blush. "Yeah, yeah," chuckled Steve genuinely. "A little concern is appreciated, though."  
"Doesn't seem like it," mumbled Bucky under his breath.  
"Sorry?"  
"Nothing. Eat your food, Steve."

 

***

 

Bucky stared up at the rotating fan on the ceiling, his room dark and silent except for the sound of his own breathing. Slanted moonlight fell on the floor around his window, casting rows of white light to lend Bucky some sight. He was buried underneath his covers, his arms supporting his head on his pillow, his eyes wide open and alert. He couldn't sleep. Which he utterly hated, because for once, Steve was completely quiet. After nights of hearing his best friend cry and shriek until his lungs burned, the silence actually scared him more than the screaming. But Bucky managed to will his body to stay still and calm in his bed, reminding himself that Steve was fine for once. He could sleep at last, uninterrupted and peacefully.  
But all he did was toss and turn, trying to find a good place to settle in. Every time he thought he found one, he'd find something to itch or rub, and then he'd have to start all over again. Every time he thought he was about to sleep, he would flinch or move in the images of those dreams that people got right before they fell asleep, and he'd start from square one. It was painful.  
Not knowing how long he had fought this battle for sleep, Bucky groaned and finally turned to the side of the bed to stare at his digital clock.  
1:53.  
He had gone to sleep at 11.  
Bucky shot up in his bed and actually shouted in frustration, unable to keep his anger inside. Terrified of what he had just done, Bucky shut his mouth a second later and stared into the darkness, listening hard for any signs of stirring or life from Steve's end. Nothing. Nothing but silence and the lack of tears.  
Bucky sighed, ran a hand through his hand, and flopped back on the mattress. He might as well close his eyes, get a little rest, dream purposely until the morning, supposedly glad that Steve no longer required help to get through the night...  
Until he heard the sound he had been expecting for so long. A hoarse, sudden scream that sent Bucky tearing his sheets off and hurling his heavy comforter onto the floor.  
That's it, Bucky thought, determined to stop the nightmares once and for all. He was always on edge at night, waiting for Steve to wail. He could never truly find rest until his friend was dealt with -- and not in a bad way at all. This was no longer about Bucky's own sleep. It was for the good of Steve, because Bucky had had his own share of nightmares and the horrors that had lurked in his mind for so long. With all of the pressure and rage and the fall of relationships left and right that Steve had been doing his best to conquer, the nightmares that he must be facing right now must be terrifying -- not like the ones that Bucky had, which consisted of knives and floggings and items of torture in return for his failing to please HYDRA. Steve's nightmares had to be personal and at the expense of those he loved. That was the difference between Bucky and Steve. Bucky had gone through physical and mental trauma. Steve had gone through emotional.  
Now Bucky knew he couldn't accept Steve's refusal for comfort. Jumping out of his bed and promptly flinging the door open to march out into the empty floor of their apartment, the high screams and sobs clearer as Bucky neared Steve's room. He crossed the apartment floor in five strides and threw Steve's door open, revealing the agitated man rocking back and forth on his bed, head tucked into his knees, his hands ripping at his wet hair, crying hysterically and wailing so desolately and mournfully, his voice so full of hurt and betrayal and loneliness that Bucky actually had to lean against the door frame, breathing hard as his chest physically began to ache.   
Clutching his throat, Bucky ran to Steve's bed and immediately enveloped the man with his strong arms without a second thought. Steve froze, but the tears kept cascading down his face. He continued to cry out, but the screams began to dwindle to a steady, breathless whimper peppered with gasps at very narrow intervals. Bucky's grip grew tighter as he begin to whisper to Steve. "Hey, hey, hey....shhhhh....shhhh, Stevie, it's okay...it's okay, you're okay....I'm here, Steve," breathed Bucky, burying his head in Steve's ragged hair. "I'm here."  
Steve's arms drooped as his muscles finally relaxed, and his back shuddered as the Captain begin to wake from his tortured sleep. He was no less panicked, however, because moans began to reach Bucky's ears. A rough voice tried to push Bucky away. "Wh-why...why aren't you in your r-r-room, B-Buck?...I'm okay....get out of here, please...don't w-waste your t-t-time..."  
Bucky growled and hugged Steve even tighter, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed to encircle Steve with them. "You. Are. My. Best. Friend. Don't push me away again. I'm not leaving you."   
He began to comb his hand through Steve's hair in a soothing gesture, trying to undo the tangles that Steve had conjured together. Steve finally stilled, sniffing and whimpering every so often. He shifted in Bucky's grasp, turning to face him. Bucky loosened his grip to allow the movement, finding himself gazing into shattered, overshadowed eyes that radiated pure sadness and regret. "B-B-Bucky," Steve whispered. "Don't...don't l-l-leave me..."  
"I told you, punk," Bucky murmured, smiling affectionately as he kept one metal hand tight around Steve's bicep while the normal one found its way around Steve's head to cup his neck in its warmth. Steve bowed his head, evidently finding security in the gesture, and let his forehead lean against Bucky's chest. Bucky exhaled through his nose in an action of relief, using the hand on Steve's upper arm to drag him into a hug and the hand on his neck to press Steve tighter against him. "I'm not leaving you, alright?"  
"N-no...not just t-t-tonight...never...."  
Bucky raised an eyebrow, resting his chin on Steve's head. "Never?" he chuckled, wanting unnecessary clarification.  
Steve sounded choked as he repeated quietly, "Never...I-I can't lose you t-too....f-f-first Peggy...then...th-then Tony...please, don't leave me l-like they did!" His voice rose in pitch and panic as he finished his statement, throwing his arms around Bucky as he began to cry again.  
Bucky closed his eyes and felt a tear slip out of his eye and down his face. He shook his head furiously, his hands and body transmitting everything Bucky wanted to say. He remembered a song from one of his favorite movies, one that never failed to calm him. Bucky had always wanted to sing it to someone he loved, someone he cared enough about to soothe, and he thought that now was as best as a time than ever. He wasn't the best singer, but he didn't care. Raising his head slightly, Bucky kept his eyes closed as he began to sing, his deep, untamed but beautifully clear voice stifling Steve's anguished sounds.  
"I remember tears streaming down your face when I said I'd never let you go..."  
Steve stiffened, slowly tilting his head back to fix Bucky in his confused gaze. Bucky looked down and smiled before pulling Steve back into the curve of his torso. He felt Steve gladly rest his chin on his shoulder as he continued to sing. "...when all those shadows almost killed your light."  
Those words brought back memories about how Steve had showed a lonely side of him he'd never revealed during the Civil War, when his bad humor and adorable playfulness was nearly destroyed.  
"I remember you said, 'Don't leave me here alone'...but all that's dead and gone and passed tonight."  
Steve shifted and made a muffled sound in the crook of Bucky's neck, which almost sounded like a pleased hum. A few more tears fell from the corner of Bucky's eyes, but it was just out of the overwhelming relief and complete joy that he was comforting Steve with the song. Don't leave me here alone. Hadn't Steve just asked that question in a reworded statement a minute ago?  
"Just close your eyes..."  
Due to the way that Steve had his face pressed up against Bucky's neck, his next action tickled Bucky's exposed skin thanks to Steve's long lashes that had just moved. Bucky bit his lip and smiled, realizing that Steve had did just that.   
"The sun is going down."  
Bucky rubbed his hand up and down on Steve's back as he made a promise with the next lyrics. "You'll be alright...no one can hurt you now." Not Tony, not HYDRA, not S.H.I.E.L.D., not anyone. Not while you have me.   
It was like Steve had heard his thoughts, because Bucky felt the arms around his waist tighten substantially.  
"Come morning light...you and I'll be safe...and...sound."  
"Promise?" Steve whispered into Bucky's neck.  
Bucky chuckled. "I promise."  
They began to rock back and forth in the silence of the break between words in the song until Bucky began singing again. "Don't you dare look out your window, cause, darling, everything's on fire." His voice hitched on the word 'darling', because he suddenly knew how seriously he met the pet name. With Steve's insecurities and hidden vulnerable heart that no one but Bucky knew about, that nickname seemed quite fitting. Steve had also reacted, a shudder running underneath Bucky's hands, down Steve's spine. But Bucky somehow knew it was too a different line -- the one about fire. He knew flames were burning against Steve's eyelids, accompanied by the smoke and haze of memories of people falling away from him left and right, leaving him alone and helpless against the burning wall of burning tangerine and lemon, with scarlet hues tinging the colors of the sun, with no one to grab his hand and guide him towards the path to safety from the relentless, blazing tongues of death. Without me, Bucky thought regretfully.  
"The war outside our doors keeps raging on," sang Bucky quietly, thinking about the last month or so. The blows that had been exchanged, the shots that had been fired, the hurtful words that spoke hatred and mixtures of fury and despair that had been spat. For people like him and Steve, the battle was never over. It was a war that could never be won -- only weakened. And to do that, you turned your thoughts to your anchor, the one who kept you from being battered and swept away by the waves of malice and violence. For Bucky, as crazy as it was, considering his place of dominance right now, that was Steve. And he could only hope that for Steve, it was him.  
"Just hold on to this lullaby," Bucky requested within the song, "even when the music's gone...gone..."  
That was all Bucky wanted. For Steve to remember this night, to remember how Bucky had sang to him, to recall the healing touch of Bucky's hands and arms. And Steve seemed eager to oblige, because his head nodded convincingly on Bucky's shoulder. His neck was now wet with Steve's gradually disappearing tears, and the blond was inhaling deeply and letting out breaths that got less shaky with each new intake of air. Bucky kept stroking Steve's back, knowing how reassuring and safe the motion could feel. It was funny, really, how 90 years had to pass before they ever got this intimate, and only because of terrible nightmares. But now that they had achieved this level of love and trust, Bucky never wanted to let go of the man in his arms. Even though he was the one wiping the tears from the other's eyes, he knew that should they ever reverse positions, Steve would do the same in a heartbeat.  
Bucky sang the chorus again, his voice now strong and confident. "Just close your eyes; the sun is going down. You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now." He gave Steve a quick squeeze, drawing an instinctive grunt that made Bucky chuckle for a split second. "Come morning light, you and I'll be safe...and....sound."  
As he made an 'O' with his lips to coax out the vocalized melody of the next part of the song, Steve finally took his head out of Bucky's neck and locked eyes with the latter once again. Bucky was startled by the clarity in Steve's shining blue eyes, the sudden happiness and gratitude like a dazzling wake-up call. It made Bucky understand -- once again -- how much Steve adored him, how much Steve needed him, how much Steve loved him. And it made him happy himself, especially when Steve opened his own mouth to add his own voice, though still a little trembling and rough, to Bucky's own.  
The men hummed out the next thirty seconds or so of the song together, voices deep and sad and wonderful and melodic all at the same time. Bucky's heart lightened as Steve sang with him, and when Steve untucked his legs from where the kneeling position they were in to wrap them around Bucky's hips in order for a better, even closer angle, Bucky felt a little flutter in his chest. Something was opened inside of him, and the affection he felt for Steve was suddenly reinforced with something new and different. Something that made Bucky reach cloud nine.  
Together, Bucky and Steve reached the final variation of the chorus of the song. When they sang, it became a heavenly duet that Bucky would have paid to hear had he not been in the room, with his lower, clearer voice that rang like a bronze bell harmonizing with Steve's slightly higher, reedier voice that was as light as a feather dusted with a shining golden powder. "Just close your eyes," they whispered to each other, their faces gradually getting closer without either man having to think. Bucky could feel the hot breath coming from Steve's lips as he neared the end of the song, as they made promises in the dark. "You'll be alright...come morning light, you and I'll be safe....and...sound."  
The last melodies of the song escaped their mouths in a soft whisper of a breath, and not a second passed before Steve cannonballed back into Bucky, head burrowed in the folds of his shirt, legs locked like a large restraint around Bucky's hips. "Thank you," mumbled Steve, choking Bucky with his embrace. "I didn't know...how much I needed that."  
Bucky grinned and squeezed his best friend. "Hey...what are friends for?"  
"Friends, Bucky?" Steve leaned back and gave Bucky a confused look. "Do friends sing with each other in the dark holding each other? Just friends?"  
"Steve, I don't think I follow -- "  
Bucky was interrupted when Steve's hands left his waist and wrapped around his neck, bringing his head closer. Bucky didn't fight the pressure, allowing Steve to press their foreheads together. The proximity should have made Bucky uncomfortable, but he found it was actually quite nice. It gave him the best view of Steve's eyes, something Bucky very much enjoyed. Steve's breath warmed Bucky's lips and neck as he said gently, "Would you mind if I repaid you for interrupting your sleep?"  
"Not at all, Stevie."  
Steve smiled slightly and gently connected their lips, and Bucky didn't pull away. He moved his normal hand back up to Steve's neck, where he found a curve to settle it in. He placed his metal hand on the small of Steve's back, bringing the other man a bit closer. Steve kept his chokehold around Bucky's neck, an almost comical, predictable choice. The kiss was an action that brought on a storm of more questions and expectations, but tonight was not a night to consider them. And the men didn't have to. There were more answers, more amenity and refuge that the connection transmitted than anything else. And most of all, it conveyed the one emotion that had fortified Bucky's heart like an iron wall. It was a kiss that exchanged both brotherly and a more passionately felt love, two feelings that Bucky felt equally. And now, at last, he knew Steve returned the same emotions.  
When they finally broke apart, Steve smiled and promised, "I'll be okay now, alright, Buck? I'm sorry that I pushed you away before."  
Bucky snorted like he always did, an old, teasing trademark sound. "It's okay. I know how self-conscious you get, Steve. But I'd do it again in a heartbeat," he added, seeing Steve's natural, light and joking injured look. "I always will."  
"Good. I'd do the same for you, you know that." Steve poked Bucky's chest and ordered, "Now go get some sleep, Soldier. You've done your part. It's 2 in the morning and I want you to rest."  
Bucky nodded before planting one last kiss on Steve's head, and even in the dark, he could see the blush that rose up in his cheeks. Not that Bucky could judge him. His own face was on fire, though he didn't mind it all. "Alright. Good night, Stevie."  
"I will now, thanks to you."  
"Ya big sap," teased Bucky, winking at Steve and untangling their limbs to clamber off the bed. As he left Steve's room, blowing a kiss on the way out, to go back to his own bed, he knew that now both of them would sleep without nightmares, safe and sound at long last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am actually very proud with how this oneshot turned out -- all fluffy and cute. I also recently finished the Hunger Games series and am now obsessed with a few of the characters (*cough cough* Haymitch *cough cough*). I hope you enjoyed, because I most definitely did while writing it! I also hope it was worth the day of waiting, because this was what I was working on.
> 
> As always, I am open for requests, suggestions, and prompts!


	5. 'Til the End of the Line (Part 3/Finale)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finale of ;'Til the End of the Line.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't even meant to be the finale, but three words in and I'm like PERFECT. So here you go, the last chapter to this little mini-series.

Steve had been released from the hospital just a week or so ago, and yet he was already tearing apart SHIELD with questions, asking them if they had any cameras posted in the woods that had managed to record the last few seconds before the man left, if they had received any tips about a shady, long-haired figure in New York, if they had any intel that Steve didn't already know that would be able to point him in the right direction in his search.  
And then he wasn't at all surprised when they told him, "Negative." Then, each one of them would pause when they saw his immediately downcast face, and then they'd reach out, pat him on the shoulder or ruffle the shirt on his back and say something like "I'm sorry, Captain Rogers," before turning around and leaving a man with a bad case of a headache and a heart ache.  
Sam was doing his best to help him. Steve would send him on full-day patrols circling around the entire state, and just yesterday Steve had decided to send him to other states to look for anything that could be the work of a Winter Soldier on the loose.  
But was his friend still the Winter Soldier? Steve had no answer to that, but he was sure of one thing. He was sure of who saved him from that river. He had passed out, drowning in heavily polluted water. The next sensation he felt didn't have the lucidity of a fully conscious person, but Steve felt it slightly, like he was witnessing or experiencing something miles away. There was pressure on his chest, a frantic rhythm, and then there was something bruising his lips up. Steve had fully fainted again after that, but when he woke up in that hospital with Sam half asleep on a chair to his right, he was confident of one thing. It was Bucky who saved him, wasn't it? Steve knew he wasn't imagining the weird, stiff feeling of the hand that had gripped his wrist so desperately in the river. Maybe Bucky was intending to kill him, snap his neck or suffocate him or something after saving him, but he didn't. Sure, he had a nasty scar trying to cover up the bullet hole in his gut. Not to mention the multiple broken or fractured bones, especially in his ribs and pelvic bone. He was in awful shape when he was found and transported to the hospital, Steve was told, but he was alive. And that was because of Bucky. Steve knew that because just before he passed out again, there was a smell tickling his nose. It was the faint musk of Eau Jeune L'Orientale, sweet and antiquated and leather and rose all at the same time. Gentle and hostile, an ancient ghost story, just like Bucky.  
So was Bucky still the Winter Soldier? Steve didn't know. But he was going to personally track down Bucky, find him, and demand an answer from him. An answer to anything, everything. Steve would hold him down if he had to.

It was near the early hours of the morning when Steve finally arrived at his apartment. He was exhausted, eyes aching, trying to tell him that he should have been asleep hours ago. He had been searching for intel and tips again, but his hands were empty, mind none the wiser. So he had hit the local bar in frustration, downed multiple shots of heavy stuff, as many as he could get in before the bartender began to look at him suspiciously. It got a little weird when people found out he was Captain America, the star-spangled man who couldn't get drunk. But he sure as hell could get a little unsteady and nauseous, and he suspected that the way his mind was clouding was a result from the lack of sleep and from the few drops of alcohol that managed to slip past his advanced fortifications of cells and into his bloodstream.  
Steve stripped off his brown leather jacket and threw it somewhere in the depths of his apartment. He'd find it tomorrow. Right now, he was going to attempt to give himself a decent shower.  
He stumbled into his bathroom and turned on the spout of water, rubbing his face as the heat began to pool out of the shower in the form of thick steam. Steve looked into the mirror that was beginning to mist up, hardly recognizing his face. There were dark circles underneath his eyes, and his cheeks looked sunken. Had it not been for the serum reinvigorating his veins, he'd look even worse. He had no idea how much effort he had put into finding Bucky, but it was taking a toll on his body.  
He had probably slept around eleven hours cumulatively over the span of a week and a half, he estimated. If he was a normal person, he'd probably be puking his guts out.  
In short, Steve was in awful shape. He appeared to still look muscular and fit when he ripped off his shirt, but no one could see how his heart was faring. It was terrible and strained, if anyone was interested.  
Taking off the rest of his clothes, Steve stepped into the shower and just stood underneath the steady stream that sent boiling water dripping down his slumped form. He hardly noticed the temperature. Minutes ticked past, and Steve's eyes began to droop, ignoring the screaming questions that demanded satisfaction that pounded against his temple. When sleep began to fully threaten him, Steve finally gathered some shampoo from his meager supply and lathered his hair with it. After washing down his body and once again standing motionless underneath the shower head, he couldn't stop himself from comparing the cinnamon aroma that had begun to fill up the bathroom from his shampoo to the rosy, worn scent of Bucky that had disappeared, to his disappointment, when he awoke in the hospital room. If only he had been able to hold onto it just a moment longer. But the only whiff of it that he got was when he was coughing up water, body convulsing before entering the eye of the storm, peaceful sleep washing over him.  
Huh. That was the last time he had ever slept properly.

He didn't even bother fully dressing. He only had enough strength to pull on a pair of boxers, and then Steve staggered to his bed, his hair still damp and tangled. His body hit the cushions, his head sank into the pillow, and immediately a sigh of relief escaped his mouth. He was probably gonna be slightly hungover the next morning, since he had never consumed that much, and it'd probably feel like hell since he had never been hungover before. But he didn't really care, trusting the serum to take care of him. A few seconds passed as Steve shifted in bed, trying to find a comfortable spot, which wasn't hard at all. Within a minute, he was fast asleep.

It couldn't have been half an hour when his mind alerted him, and his eyes opened on instinct, temporarily distorted by the darkness that had only seemed to get blacker. There was a difference in the temperature, like someone had opened a window or opened the door just enough for some of the cool air in the main area to seep into the room that was being overheated by Steve's body temperature. When he furrowed his brow and slowly sat up, he saw that the latter was correct. His door was ajar, and his curtains were billowing just the slightest, as if it had been disturbed seconds before Steve was aroused.  
"Mmm?" he grunted, running a hand through his hair. Then the issue hit him like a semi, his breath hitching before coming to a full halt. There was someone in his room. He knew this because he had locked his door, an automatic habit. And though that someone would most likely not have a chance of harming him if they wished him dead, Steve still wanted to know who it was. "Alright," Steve said, fully alert and tense. He didn't even bother with the whole 'who's there' crap. "I know you're in here. Why don't you stop being a coward and come out from underneath my bed?"  
The room was silent, but there was movement and scuffling underneath his elevated mattress. Steve watched with narrowed eyes at the place where he expected the invader to pop up...only to feel something tap on his shoulder from behind him.  
Steve whirled around with an involuntary yelp, fists poised to strike, his arm drawn back. He was just about to shove a fist into the person's ribs when his eyes registered two glowing icy eyes, staring at him just inches away.  
And he knew those eyes.  
Steve and Bucky stared at each other in complete silence. No one moved. Steve's mouth was wide open, because here he was, right in front of him, in his bedroom, after days of endless searching and hopelessness and --  
"Steve." Bucky spoke first.  
Steve had to search for the right words for a few seconds before he could properly answer. "That's me," he whispered, his fists slowly uncurling. "Why are you here, Buck? Not that I want you to leave, in fact I have a lot of things that I wanna know --"  
A hand covered his mouth, one thankfully not made of metal. "Steve," repeated Bucky, this time more confident and clear. "Please."  
Slowly the human hand drops, and Steve had to bite down on his tongue to avoid blurting out his many, many questions. So he tried to clear his mind up and say hesitantly, "Okay...but...do you even know how much I've searched for you? I've spent so much time looking for you, Buck, do you even see how awful I look? I've done so much, and now you -- you just -- you show up here, in front of me, out of nowhere." He flailed wildly with his hands for a few seconds before settling on exclaiming again, "Why are you here?"  
Bucky frowned. "Just like you. I have questions."  
Steve's voice was nervous and unsteady when he asked after a few seconds, "Do you...remember?"  
Bucky paused, looking tense. "I don't know," he murmured. "I don't know. How would you feel if you've been told for years upon years upon years that there's this one guy who you've gotta hate, and then you start shooting at him when you're released, knowing that you're gonna return to a world of agony if you fail to kill him, and then suddenly something inside of you tells you that you and this guy were once childhood friends? Two boys, inseparable both at home and on the battlefield?" His voice was slow during the last sentence, and suddenly Steve realized that Bucky was wearing a red sweatshirt and jeans, and his hair looked combed and neat rather than a wild forest of brown. Bucky seemed to understand the conclusion that Steve had slowly come to, agreeing quietly, "I've been there, Steve. That exhibit in the Smithsonian? I've seen you. I've seen me. I've seen people gushing about us, how terrible it was that I --" Bucky's voice hitched. "That I died, and that you couldn't save me?"  
That's when Steve broke. "I'm so sorry," blurted Steve, tears suddenly leaping into his eyes. 70 years may have passed, but Bucky saying that sent a whole new wave roaring over Steve's back, a fresh dagger spearing deep into his emotions. "I'm so sorry, Buck, I know I couldn't -- I know I didn't -- I should've saved you, maybe I should've even left you behind, but I didn't, and now all this happened, and I'm so so so sorry --"  
A broad body cannons into him, and suddenly Steve's bare torso was being soothed by tight arms and a warm sweatshirt. He was startled for a second, not even registering the hand deep in his hair, tangling itself in his still-damp spikes, or even the way Bucky had pressed his face into the crook of his neck. "Don't you apologize, you punk," growled Bucky, grip tightening. "What's done is done, and that was 70 years ago. You can't change anything, but I'm here now, and I want answers from you."  
Bucky pulled away before Steve could reciprocate the embrace, and he blinked, still shocked into silence. "Alright," he finally said. "What do you want to know?"  
To his surprise, Bucky pushed the Captain to the other edge of the bed before taking off his sweatshirt, revealing a thin black cotton tee. Steve stared in astonishment as Bucky peeled back the covers, kicked off his shoes, and crawled into the sheets with the other man. Steve's jaw drops as Bucky scoots closer and then flings the blankets back on, and Steve doesn't even have to look or calculate anything to know that there was only a few inches between them. The fact that this man had just tried to kill him not too long ago unsettled Steve, but he tried to remind himself that this was the best thing that could possibly be happening. In his youth, he and Bucky had shared beds when it was too cold for them to sleep separately, and to share this intimacy again after so long and so much grief and angst had passed was more than Steve could have ever hoped for. Still, though, the fact that Steve's is practically naked and the Winter Soldier is close enough to kiss him if he wanted to did do something curious to his chest and mind.  
"Okay," Steve nodded, managing to grin. "Explain?"  
"What I want to know or why I'm in bed with you?"  
"Um, really, either will do, but okay, why are you in bed with me? How do I know you're not trying to make me trust you so you can turn around and then strangle me or something? You don't happen to have a knife in your pocket, do you?"  
"I want nothing other than reassurance of things I think I know, Rogers," Bucky said, eyes narrowing, still flashing in the dark. A hand came out of the sheets to rub against Steve's neck, and the blonde bit his lip as the curved palm rubbed against his skin that had peppered up in gooseflesh. "Although you trusting me would be a plus."  
Steve involuntarily reached up to wrap his own fingers around Bucky's wrist, but neither of them chickened. So Steve asked, "So tell me what you want to know, Buck."  
"Who am I?" The question came very quickly.  
Steve tilted his head, but the answer came just as fast. "James Buchanan Barnes. Sergeant James Barnes. Bucky. Buck. Childhood best friend of Steve Rogers. Second to Captain America. My best friend. Preferably those last five, because that's how I like to remember you."  
Bucky was still looking at him expectantly, as if he was expecting another name. But when Steve lapsed into silence, when it became clear he was done, Bucky's face fell in odd disappointment. "Alright," he agreed. "Okay. I mean, that's what the exhibit said. Pretty much all of those."  
"Well," Steve said, "what about you? Who do you think you are?"  
Bucky looked startled. "Honestly? The Winter Soldier, sometimes," he admitted, saying a name that Steve had purposely not included. "But sometimes, when I have these terrible headaches, Bucky works too," he added quickly when Steve's eyes widened and his hand dropped from Bucky's wrist. "But I wanna know something else. Why didn't you fight me?"  
Steve laughed automatically, the answer supposedly obvious. "I've told you already," he chuckled. "I'm sure you remember. You slugged me afterwards. I'm your friend. What else is there to know? It all boils down to that. Everything I've done, everything I hadn't done. It's because I care about you." He paused. "It's because you said you'd be there for me until the end of the line, and I don't think either of us was ready to end the line quite yet."  
Bucky's eyes widened substantially, and Steve felt the need to add, "Do you remember that, Buck? The first time you told me that?"  
Bucky was quiet for such a long time that Steve began to think that he was falling asleep, which brought up a little worry because if he found the Winter Soldier snoring away beside him in the morning and he didn't remember this night, then he'd probably try to attack him on instinct. Luckily, Bucky finally piped up, "I...I think so. It was after your mom's funeral, right? A-and you, you asked to be by yourself, and then I said...I said..."  
"'The thing is, you don't have to be'," Steve quoted to Bucky quietly, to boost his memory.  
Bucky swallowed dryly, and his hand slipped from Steve's neck. "Yeah...yeah."  
"And then what did you say after that?"  
"'Because I'm with you 'til the end of the line, pal'," Bucky answered, a smile faint on his lips as he undoubtedly recalled the entire memory. It was one of Steve's fondest memories, too. It was funny how Bucky's hand had been able to enclose his entire shoulder and most of his bicep, too, back then, and how now it was just enough to warm the side of neck.  
Steve nodded, trying to hide how excited he was. He could feel Bucky's legs brushing against his own, and once again he grew a little self-conscious about the fact that he was currently lacking in the clothes department. "Is that promise still valid?"  
"I want it to be."  
Steve can't fight the blush that rises in his neck, and neither does Bucky, who asks after a minute of silent gazes, "Steve...do you remember anything?"  
The Captain knew immediately what Bucky was referring to. He shrugged and smiled, patting Bucky's cheek with gratitude before replying, "I mean, yeah, a little. I know you rescued me from the river, at least." Bucky nodded, looking satisfied with that answer until Steve remembers one tiny detail. How swollen his lips felt when he woke up. And so he felt the need to continue, quietly, "And I know you revived me."  
Instantly all the red drains from Bucky's face. "You...do?"  
"Yeah. Where'd you learn how to do CPR?"  
Bucky was quiet again, and Steve worried that maybe he went a little too far. But then some of Bucky's old humor seemed to return, because he snorts, "That bad, huh?"  
"What?" Steve asked, surprised. It also didn't occur to him that that was exactly what he said to Natasha when asked if his kiss with her had been his first since 1945. "I don't follow, sorry."  
Bucky rolled his eyes, forcing out, "The mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Was it that bad? Did I really hurt you?"  
Steve accidentally giggled, which incited an alarmed but amused look from Bucky. "A little, maybe. But I passed out after that." How strange it felt to be talking like this with a man who tried to kill him. Steve still got that weird feeling, though, because some part of him wasn't completely at ease. It was too easy, too convenient that Bucky had just shown up in his room and was now eagerly talking about his feelings to Steve. There was no way this was real.  
Bucky looked relieved at Steve's last words. "Oh. Oh, huh. Okay." He then inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, like he was afraid of his next question. Steve frowned, beginning to get nervous, because that intake of breath always meant that the person in question was going to say something hard. He tries to lean forward a little, in case Bucky was going to get very soft in volume, but it only invokes a new wave of red, though this time it's more of an uncomfortable shade, in Bucky's cheeks. "Steve," Bucky began at last, "do you love me?"  
A scoff escaped Steve's throat before he could stop it. "I'll admit, not what I was expecting, but obviously, Bucky, do you really think I --"  
"No, Steve," interrupted Bucky, his voice deadly serious. "Do you love me?" He emphasized the space between each word, saying each with equal clarity and accent.  
And that's when Steve realized what Bucky was truly asking. Was that what Bucky was looking for, when he was asking about who he was? He wanted Steve to say 'my one and only' or 'the one I love', didn't he?  
And when Bucky fixed him with terrified, embarrassed eyes, Steve knew that he must've said that last part out loud. Steve reached for him, his name partially spoken, but Bucky was already getting out of the bed, turning his head and gritting his teeth. "I should have never come here," he muttered. "This was a mistake. Life was so much simpler with HYDRA. You wake up, you're given a mission, you do it, and you either complete it or you get punished and you wish you were dead. I didn't have to make my own choices. I wish I still didn't."  
"But you did, and here you are, " Steve said, his voice raising. He managed to grab the back of Bucky's shirt as he turned to leave, and the brunette turned to look at him, eyes blazing and tearing up with regret and betrayal and anger and hurt, although Steve wasn't quite sure whether it was aimed at him or Bucky himself.  
Suddenly Steve was thrown back onto the helicarrier, staring up at Bucky's horrified face. He knows his own is bloody, bruised, and pale. But his thoughts are especially lucid, and it took no effort whatsoever to recall them. How gorgeous Bucky's eyes had seemed to him. How snowflakes had twinkled within the depths, building on his name, the Winter Soldier. How mint had sprung within the snowy waves of land, a splash of color within the bitterness -- how a spark of hope had grown within the emotionless, gray landscape of Bucky when Steve had left him to the horrors of HYDRA. How ashamed Steve had been, deep inside, for not allowing Bucky a normal life as a living Howling Commando. How easily Steve had been able to push that regret aside, for he knew that if he had saved Bucky, if Bucky had grabbed his hand and been pulled back into that speeding train, they would not be here now. Bucky would not be here now. He'd be dead, a body rendered lifeless decades ago, weighted down with the knowledge that his best friend had left him in the wreck of an airship, dead before he knew that Steve had lived. Perhaps Bucky would have been blessed with the luck to survive as long as Peggy, gifted with the chance to see Steve alive and well for one last time. But how could Steve feel badly about not saving Bucky when he was here now, mentally broken but right there in front of him?  
Life wasn't fair, but sometimes it was because the people living it were too selfish to see the good things it did for them. It was impossible for Bucky to have ever lived a perfect life with Steve, but it all came down to what Steve preferred. Bucky dying a normal man after a long, typical life in the Army, or Bucky here with him now, a psychologically ruined but a gradually mending man who was willing to take another chance?  
All of this took place in less than ten seconds, and Steve finally threw in his lot with the cards he had been dealt with. Peace washed over him as he decided that he was happy with what he had -- with who he had. And he sure as hell was happy with Bucky, because when his mind finally straightened out, able to relax and focus on the present at last, the feelings he had kept in a tiny, compact ball hidden deep inside of him in a box of ice that hadn't quite melted yet emerged after 90 years. Bucky had waited long enough to hear those three words he had for so long desired. Steve saw no reason to make him wait any longer.  
"Yeah," whispered Steve. "Yeah, I love you. More than you know. I always wondered what pushed me to search for you and hope for you and dream for you day after day and night after night. Now I know."  
A tear dropped down Bucky's face, getting lost somewhere in the stubble that he hadn't quite yet shaved from his cheek. Slowly Bucky went back down to the bed, kneeling on the side and leaning over the side of Steve, his hands and arms supporting him. "Steve," breathed Bucky, his eyes shining, shaking his head as he leaned down, a smile pulling at his lips. "You punk."  
The affectionate pet name broke the carefully constructed dam in his heart, letting loose a wild surge of emotion thundering through his body. His hands latched onto Bucky's shoulders and he brought him down onto his body, and Bucky had just a second to straddle him to make it easier before their lips connected. Steve gripped Bucky's neck tightly, trying to pull him down to deepen the kiss, and Bucky gave Steve about half his weight to handle, knowing full well that the Captain could manage it. Funny, where Steve expected an arousal, there was nothing, and that satisfied him more than ever. Nothing about this was sexual in any way. This was a kiss seemingly overdue for many decades, and thought both men shared an equal amount of fire and passion, there seemed to be a mutual understanding that nothing more was wanted or necessary. There was some tongue in the kiss -- Bucky's -- but it only poked at the entrance of Steve's mouth, not hungry or aching. Just gratefully, just affectionately.  
Finally Steve pulled away -- or, at least, he tried to, seeing as he was already pressed against the bed. Bucky murmured, "I've done this before, you know." Steve raised his eyebrow. "Have you, now?" "Yeah." He sounded a little embarrassed. "On the riverbank. I, uh...I wasn't ready to stick around and tell you then, but I had to. I had no idea if you'd be okay or not, or if you'd even care to see me again, so I...I went for it." "I don't remember that," confessed Steve, a little sadly. "But at least we're making up for it, right?" Bucky gave him a small smile. "Right." The men lapse into a comfortable silence until Steve speaks up. "You know, I don't think Tony will be very happy to hear about this," he joked, running a hand down Bucky's arm.  
Bucky pursed his lips, rolling onto his side so that Steve could breathe normally. Hands trailed up and down his bare torso, tracing his muscles, giving his spine shudders. "Steve," Bucky said, a reasoning, gentle tone in his voice. "I don't -- look...if I told you that maybe...maybe it's not time yet..."  
A flash of hurt pierced Steve's chest before it became a steady throb of understanding and agreement. "Then I'd be alright with it," Steve finished for him, a forgiving smile on his face.  
"You know that I'm not okay yet."  
"And you know that I'm okay with you not being okay."  
"So this never happened?" asked Bucky, cocking his head.  
Steve twisted his jaw thoughtfully. It would be painful for him to try and push away this memory, to cover up the feeling of Bucky's lips on his with new memories of tomorrow. But, if a promise was involved, maybe he could do it. So Steve suggested, "Okay. But will you come back to me, one day?"  
"Always," murmured Bucky as Steve's hand brushed a wisp of hair behind his ear. "And then I'll be there until the end of the line."  
Steve doesn't realize he's crying until Bucky wipes a tear off of his jawline before dragging him into a second kiss. It's tender, it's sweet, it's everything that Steve wanted in their friendship. No tongue this time, no desperate caresses. Just a tight hug accompanied it, and Steve felt Bucky's legs tangled in his, both arms trapping his own as Steve tried to hug him back. The metal arm is a little cold at first, but it warms as Steve lends it the heat overflowing in his body. Their foreheads press together as they part at the same time, their breathing a little quick, but nothing showing anything was out of the ordinary. "Stay," Steve pleaded quietly.  
Bucky chuckles and draws Steve in even closer, his cheek pressed against Bucky's collarbone. As Bucky puts his chin on Steve's head, Steve can feel him smile when he repeats one last time, a vow that's getting old but is as meaningful as the first time it was uttered, "Til the end of the line."  
Because, after all, there is value in repetition. 

 

Steve woke up alone. He was on his back, which was confusing, because he could have sworn he fell asleep on his side. In Bucky's arms. He was only in his covers, and his body was cold. Panic increased as he looked to his left. The covers were neatly made, just like how they were when he first went to bed. The pillows were fluffed and even, no sign at all that anyone had once occupied that space. The bed was level, as if it had always been Steve and Steve only.  
Confused, Steve looked around his room. The door was closed. The curtains were still. The window was closed. Everything was just as he had left it.  
"It was just a dream," Steve mumbled, a hot lump forming in his throat. A lucid dream, very clear and easy to remember, but just a dream. Wet drops began to form on the sheet in front of him as tears started to stream down his cheeks, making their way down to his curved jaw and then plopping from his face like rain.  
Steve laid back down, silently crying, closing his eyes and trying to stifle the sobs beginning to wrack his chest. He kept crying for minutes on end, eventually giving up on trying to stay silent. Finally his tear supply ran dry, and he just lied there, sniffing and gasping for breath. His pillow was soaked, as was the hair near the side of his face, and he could taste the salt in his mouth. He didn't even bother to get up, to get a tissue and properly clear his nose. He just sniffed, trying to suck the mucus back in, swearing at his subconscious. It must really hate him to think up such a realistic dream. Maybe it was punishing him for all that drinking. Or maybe vivid dreams were just a side-effect of mass liquor intakes. Whatever the case, Steve wasn't about to go anywhere. He just wanted to hold onto that last memory of Bucky in his dream, with him curled up against Bucky's torso, legs entangled, little kisses peppering the top of his head...  
And then, during one particularly deep inhale, when his nose was nearly clear, Steve smelled it. It was just a very small trace of it, almost undetectable on the pillow beside him, but it seemed so strong to Steve that he didn't even know how he missed it in the first place.  
It's Eau Jeune L'Orientale, sweet and antiquated and leather and rose all at the same time. Gentle and hostile, an ancient ghost story...just like Bucky.  
No, it was Bucky.  
And if that wasn't enough to convince Steve that Bucky had in fact paid him a midnight visit, the Post-It note that Steve found on his bathroom mirror when he finally got up to wash his face was. Because, in messy handwriting that clearly hadn't been used in a long time but undoubtedly his, Bucky had wrote him one last short message until the next time they met.  
"Til the end of the line, you and me until the end of time."

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll are getting real tired of that statement, huh? Well, #SorryNotSorry  
> In any case, I am SO sorry for not updating in about a month. I've been caught up with other fandoms (i.e. The Hunger Games, Undertale, pure boredom and business, etc.), so I haven't had the inspiration to write. But now I'm Stucky trash again, and HOOOOOOPEFULLY I'll get a few more updates in before I bore of this again. But I haven't abandoned you guys!!!
> 
> As always, I am open for requests, suggestions, and prompts!


	6. Notice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick notice; not an update

Hey guys! 

So I'm really sorry for disappointing, but this isn't an update. Actually, this will be the last update, at least for this book. I prefer, now, to simply post Stucky oneshots in their own solo work. This means that I'm not going to stop Stucky stories, but you're going to have to be on the lookout for them.

In short, yes, this is the end of this book. Meaning now I get the chance to thank you all for your support and love on this. So thanks for reading and for sticking with me for this long (even though, granted, it lasted only 5 oneshots...). I hope to find all of you on my future oneshots and fanfics once again! I can't wait to see the ideas and prompts that ya'll think of.

See you in the next fanfic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure to stay tuned to my page so you know when a new Stucky oneshot/fanfic comes out!

**Author's Note:**

> That was my first Stucky oneshot (but certainly not my first oneshot in general), so I hope I did an okay job with it! I'm still trying to figure out how to best get into their character, so I just decided to 'rewrite' the end of 'Winter Soldier' with a Stucky view to it.
> 
> As always, I am open for requests, suggestions, and prompts!


End file.
